Quiddity
by Vergil's Inferno
Summary: When something goes wrong, you apologise; when you pick a fight with your younger hybrid brother and end up being proven wrong on all accounts, you start to panic. Can ice cream, strawberries and pizza really fix it this time? A smidge of brotherly fluff to go with that serving. Disclaimer: again, I wish I did own them but I don't. They belong to Capcom – lucky bastards.


Twenty six missed calls…  
Seventeen unread messages…  
Nine unanswered emails…  
Three declined video chats…

Vergil was going to feel this when he got home.

He sat outside of Dante's favourite pizza parlour at three in the morning, thankful to see workers inside bustling and energetic at such an ungodly hour. He turned the ignition, parking directly in front of the twenty four hour establishment to swallow his pride and do the one thing he swore he wished he'd never do but found himself slipping on more than one occasion – takeout. He saw it counterproductive to have his meals coated in sunflower oil and gluten, the freshness of each serving drained by the freezers from which it was dug out, but one exception to the rule was his brother's chosen lifeline; this particular pizzeria took pride in the dough, tomato base, and mozzarella cheese made in-house, a secret recipe known only to the employees who constructed the creation in front of your eyes to ensure you of the best ingredients being used for every single pizza that left the shop. It was famous in town since under new management; a no nonsense barely-adult straight out of culinary school taking over after the previous owner was brought under legal fire and forced to resign and sell the place for next to nothing. Coming from a well-known prospering family, the new owner managed to swindle in a few extra dollars for a good retirement for the old man, making his first stamp on the community and a lasting impression on the surrounding cities – from then on he had received much support from the citizens and tourists alike, his well-mannered demeanour and perfect smile making him popular in his industry and setting the dwelling in stone as one of the places to beat when it came to quality and hospitality.

One of their biggest selling points was keeping the place open twenty four hours a day; many had graced its front porch at ungodly hours – just like Vergil – to seek a quick fix for the rumble in their tummy, offering a small range of sweet treats for the younger folk who preferred something lighter than a slice of their melt-in-your-mouth specialty. The hybrid watched the group busy themselves with prep for the coming day, slicing, dicing, chopping, and squeezing between messy dance moves for the ultimate experience, carefully watched under the keen eye of the man he assumed was their boss: he looked nothing like one, blending in with the young staff effortlessly and laughing with them, not a single strict bone in his body; he was their leader, exhuming governance through every pore of his tall frame yet appealing to them on their level, making him relatable and kind to his employees who no doubt loved having him in charge. Vergil surveyed him glancing at his watch to which he shouted to the crowd, the rest of them filing out to the back entrance while he stayed put at the register.

It was his saving grace; a room full of strangers shouldn't have disarmed him as much as it did, but he thanked his lucky stars as he ventured to the glass doors, only having to deal with one pair of prying eyes. The crisp outside air bit at his bones as he pulled his blue coat closer to his frame, popping the collar before stepping into the clean, warm, delectable smells wafting through the atmosphere of the shop.

"I'll be with you in just a sec…"

His train of thought derailed at the voice seemingly coming from nowhere until a light fluffy head popped from underneath the counter: he looked much younger up close than through two glass panes, the right lighting system hitting him at every good angle he possessed. The second the owner looked up at him his face changed from gladness to confusion, the cogs clicking into place and then clicking out, causing an adorable malfunction in the man's head. "You recognise me?"

The man behind the counter nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes at the obvious question. "Well, yes, but something's different-"

"It's the hair." The relief was everywhere on his familiar features. "And the fact that I'm not Dante."

Two brown eyebrows shot through the roof, unbelieving at first but it made sense; the man was too awkward to be him, too quiet and distant against his regular customer. "What? You're not? Then who on earth are you?" He was being playful, hoping the icy exterior would melt and gage his softer side for the short length of time they would communicate with one another.

"His twin brother." Vergil wasn't one for chit chat, but given the circumstance a talk with a stranger might do him some good; he wasn't the most approachable of people at his best and that was a given, but being an asshole at his worst was something he couldn't see himself doing, being a much nicer demon and pleading with his body not to explode into a burst of violence and bloodshed. This in turn assisted with him stepping back and processing what he was feeling, blah blah blah, as opposed to being worked up from a calm state to a heightened level of agitation where killing something was the only thought on his mind. His face gave nothing away to the man in at the counter, but deep down he was in pain. A lot of it. "Hi."

He extended his hand to the owner who took it eagerly and shook it with the energy of someone who just drank a Red Bull under a twelve hour shift. "A pleasure, sir. He never mentioned a brother."

"Vergil," he said with a wave of his hand, stuffing it needlessly back into his pocket, "and he won't unless you ask, so no worries." He stole a glimpse of the nametag on his tight, black, long-sleeved cotton top: Nero. His attire must have been through rigorous afterthought, right down to the white skinnies and Converse sneakers that sat comfortably on his feet.

"Well, how can I help you, Vergil?" Nero lunged over the clean blue counter, a winning smile so contagious the demon's mouth twitched at the corners, managing an amused smirk that made him smile more. "I would make an assumption for the reason you're out in the cold, but I see no wedding ring for a pregnant wife and that body tells me you avoid these places like the plague."

Oh, the wonders flattery could get you in this day and age; Vergil didn't miss the compliment, permitting the letters to sink into his brain and making him feel slightly better in his predicament. He looked up at the wide selection of pizzas to choose from, the quick glance not yet finding something his brother might enjoy. "It's for Dante; I've seen him come in here more often than any other place-"

"Twice a day, actually. He's one of my best customers." Nero possibly condemned Dante to a week of healthy food as a detox, but he needed to keep Vergil talking; the more he spoke, the more he understood – it was the mantra he lived by, and it was evident in his growing success at the shop. He noted the stark differences amidst the two but he knew essence of the good-hearted brother was lying dormant somewhere in the deeper pits of his belly.

"Tw-tw… Twice a day?" The demon cooked thrice a day; where did he find the time and capacity to add two pizzas into the mix? Then again, this was Dante they were talking about; his high metabolism and activities during the day would keep him hungry constantly – he would draw the line at him choosing the cheesy goodness over his healthier options, but he never did.

Nero nodded at the customer's cocked head, chuckling at the revelation that he might have just spoiled for Dante. "He's such a regular his normal order made the menu. It's our bestseller." He pointed to the uppermost right corner of the menu that swung over their heads, and sure enough there it was: PEPPERONI, GREEN PEPPER, ONION, GARLIC, BACON, EXTRA MOZZARELLA (OLIVES NOT AVAILABLE AS AN EXTRA). It was so him Vergil scoffed into the collar of his coat.

"Give me three of them; extra-large please."

The owner bowed deeply, unlacing his fingers and pushing himself off the counter to get them started. "You got it!" Nero disappeared behind a huge wall tackling Tupperware tubs from a concealed fridge somewhere in the back, pulling sharp stainless steel knives from wooden blocks and chopping something thick along a dense cutting board. His head reappeared from behind it with parts of his hair pinned to his scalp underneath a headband, pointing to the kitchen behind him. "You wanna come through to the back? We can talk more if you want."

He was so out of his element that his feet led him through to the kitchen, sitting at a high-chair Nero had pulled out close to his work surface. "Where's everyone else?"

Nero was playing with the dough for the base in his hands, pulling it into smaller balls and rolling them into perfect spheres and constructing a tiny tower of dough balls, sprinkling them in flour and pressing them into a flat shape on the metal surface ready for proper work-through with a rolling pin. "Two hour nap in the upper floor. It's usually at this time when they're dying down, so I take over for a bit." In no time he had three mammoth fluffy basses, each on their own tray for their first layer of the tomato base. "Can I get you something to drink? All I have is bourbon."

Nero walked over to the line of sinks in one corner, cleaning off the clammy flour to not mix with the richness of the tomatoes. "Water is fine, thank you-"

"Like I said, all I have is bourbon." He walked over to the shelves housing a myriad of spices and condiments, moving plastic bottles away from a hidden panel of wood that he shifted quickly and revealing a huge bottle of the brown burning liquid swirling inside its glass confines. Grabbing two tumblers from behind him he laid one directly in front of Vergil, yanking the wooden cork from its place and pouring him a stiff single serving of the soothing alcohol. He did the same with his own, holding it up to clink their glasses and watched in awe as his customer knocked it back in one swig; he waited patiently for any sign of a burn. Nothing. "Heavens, how bad did you fuck up?"

Nero followed his lead, draining his glass and pulling a sour face as his insides turned to ash under the strong alcohol content. He poured Vergil's glass full this time, hoping he'd sip at it while waiting for his pizzas to cook inside the wood-fire ovens. "My brother is the type to have his ducks in a row when it comes to arguments; he doesn't pick on past offenses and addresses the issues in the moment – he doesn't let them fester and he doesn't hold grudges, thinking that ripping the Band-Aid off is the best solution, and I love him for that because we hardly ever fight."

The chef could do this with his eyes closed, ladling the sauce and massaging it on top the dough, moving in circles and working from the centre outward. "So what now? He use some expired Band-Aid or something?"

"More along the lines of… him using a more colourful one and me acting out of line." Vergil watched him hide the bottle in its safe place, adjusting the condiments accordingly and floating toward the dressed bases; adding one layer of parmesan dust to each, he threw chunky pieces of chopped raw bacon into a frying pan with olive oil and gave them a quick toss, drawing the juices and fat from the pork and allowing it to simmer with some butter. The piping hot ingredient had no effect on the professional's hands as he kneaded some garlic through the pores of the bacon, permitting the juice to fuse with the sweltering heat and setting it to one side to cool as he busied himself with slicing the green pepper and onion.

Upon placing them aside, his chopped pepperoni from earlier was tossed into the pan with the bacon juices and the plate switched off, allowing for the flavour to quietly simmer while Nero cautiously took a normal sip out of his bourbon. "I don't know if it's my place to say, but you don't seem like the type to bend any sort of rule, bud."

"I'm not – I'm the furthest thing from it, and it's infuriating that I let it get to that level." Watching him move was hypnotising; seeing Dante's very own creation being made from scratch was truly something to behold, coming from someone who considered himself half-okay in the kitchen. The level of finesse and trust the chef placed in his own capability and ingredients were enthralling and fresh, his true love for his craft shining through every step of his own personal tune. "To top it all off I was wrong in the first place."

"Well, I'm certain it was justified to some extent. I don't think he could be this mad at his own sibling." He had seen many of his 'I'm really sorry' pizzas leave the front door; none were ever this big. Then again, this was Dante – the very man who had golfed down two of them in less than ten minutes as part of their Terrifying Tuesday special a few weeks ago, rewarded with no charge for the food. He was the only one to hold the title and no one had gone near it since his attempt.

Nero grabbed the pan from the stove and distributed the crackling sausage straight from it, using the tips of his fingers to place each slice evenly across the tomato sauce, leaving tiny gaps for the pieces of garlic bacon to find their way on the remaining parts of the bases. "I hurt him, Nero, and it's even worse when he won't acknowledge that he's hurt and carry on as if nothing happened."

"Oh," he said, placing the hot pan in the sink and making a beeline for the sliced vegetables. "Maybe you're seeing it worse than what it is."

Vergil had his tumbler at his lips, halting at the opportunity to drive his point home. "Okay, how about this?" The action followed through and the few drops of liquid singed what was left of his throat that was already immune after the first shot. "When I went home earlier, the laundry was done, the dishes were all washed and he was mopping the floor… With a mop!" It was delivered with a straight, frozen face, making it that much funnier.

Nero was proud that he had managed to bring Vergil's sense of humour to the surface, playing along by brandishing the best sarcastic distressed expression he could muster, droopy shoulders included for special effect. "Not the mop?"

"Oh yes, the mop – I didn't think he knew what it looked like." His steely conduct took a backseat to the face splitting grin that now found its way to the surface, permitting a small chuckle to spew from his chest and letting Nero join in on their mutual joke. "That man is allergic to cleanliness; the only two places that matter to him are his room and his body, taking particular care between his legs."

The carefully position bacon, the sprinkling of the carved vegetables and the extra layer of mozzarella topped the completed product, ready to be thrown into the two fiery pits of pizza hell that had been blazing since Vergil had stepped into the shop. The owner lifted the uncooked monstrosities and dumped them inside to bake and crisp, the untampered magic happening inside the clay domes and the only part of the process he couldn't watch. He could, but having to explain how would prove a challenge to the gastronomical genius. "Well… ya know… priorities…" Nero washed his hands again, stealing a dampened cloth from the sink to wipe off the single spot of flour on his shirt – the irony wasn't lost on either of them – and pulled the chair next to Vergil, feeling a little bit safer in diving into the root of the problem and offering a well-tailored solution for the soul, not wanting him to leave with just three pizzas. "You wanna tell me what went down? You don't have to if you don't want to, but you look bleak."

"This is my normal face, actually. Dante makes fun of it all the time." Vergil finished his glass, the final glug finally holding traction on the withered skin in his throat as a miniscule hiccup left him. "But I'm not usually the talkative type, so I wouldn't know where to start."

He nodded understandingly. "Can I ask what it was that you fought about then?" He finished his as well, thinking what he was planning to achieve with two empty glasses. "Wait, hold on-" He walked around the wall and came back with a litre bottle of clear alcohol; Vergil could smell this was well within his domain, not wanting to get him drunk but just enough to get him comfortable enough to talk. There was something about the entire encounter that said he didn't do this with many customers, seeming to have saved the better half of his alcohol for those to keep him company during the early hours of the morning – or at least the two hours he worked for his staff. "Okaaaaay go!"

He found his seat, pouring himself a generous tot and proudly drinking all of it; Vergil did the same, the vodka honing a bit more of a kick after the onslaught of bourbon he had consumed. "You won't laugh? My ego couldn't take it-"

"I can't promise that." Nero dug out a bulky piece of pepper he hadn't used and chewed noisily. "And if that's the deciding factor then there's no way I won't annoy you until you tell me."

Vergil could chop this boy's head off in a second, portioning him without an afterthought, but this was his field and knowledge, and damn right did he use it to the best of his ability. It didn't take away from the fact that he was hovering on a string under the chef's control, somehow compelled to spill the details of his despondency with the stranger. "Fine; hold onto your panties then."

A devious smile showed off Nero's impressive canines, resting his tongue in his cheek after licking his perfect teeth clean. "I'm a big boy – I don't wear panties."

He liked him more and more.

* * *

Dante rolled around in the massive king-sized bed alone, chilly and hungry owing to the missing brother in the equation; the open window he gazed at brought in not a single soothing breeze yet a slight cold chilled his spine and spread from his neck to his toes. He took a guess that his measly thin attire and thick duvet had absolutely nothing to do with it, lying on his back and staring at the blank ceiling with an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

He looked to his right at the huge clock on the wall; what could Vergil possibly be doing at three in the morning? He had gotten a call from a familiar client, at midnight exactly, for a run-of-the-mill scour of an open piece of land that was said to be hiding a nest of some sort, breeding demons by day and letting them loose at night to terrorise the livestock closer to the area. His brother decided to take it owing to him already being in uniform and he was gone in the next second – Dante had hoped it was for him to eradicate the mess rapidly, to get home as soon as possible for them to sort their problems out, but now it seemed that he just wanted to get away and allow for some space between them, a breath of fresh air away from the one who did no wrong.

All he did was defend himself against Vergil's accusations and provide proof that he was being delusional, seeing something that clearly wasn't there and choosing his own irrationality over the clear-headedness of his younger brother. When he had eventually come to his senses, Dante was hurt beyond belief, more hurt than he had ever been his entire life owing to what Vergil had blamed him for, adding an extra bit of fun to an already monotonous job and getting scolded from a dizzy height that he was somehow cheating on his brother. It wasn't a title he took lightly, having very little patience and time for those caught in the act of deceiving someone they're supposed to love beyond measure; he would never have guessed for those words to fall from his brother's mouth – his stoic, calm, collected, frozen, intense, loving brother – and that alone added fuel to a non-existent fire, one that seemed to burn their red string of fate to a bitter ash for no means of reconciliation any time soon. Dante knew that all too well having almost lost Vergil before, and losing him again made him sick to his stomach.

He finally climbed out of bed to obey the tiny yet massive rumble in his tummy, each step down his staircase heavier than the last, and sluggishly moving to the kitchen to look for something remotely edible. It was times like these when he missed him most, the endless complaints about him not eating a balanced diet as he snuck in a few slices of pizza before bedtime; of course Vergil knew about them, but if the younger was eating he was more than happy. It was these moments and these moments alone when he lost his appetite altogether, when his brother wouldn't cook and he wouldn't eat, possibly skipping two mealtimes until he eventually caved in and made two additional servings for Dante to feast on all by himself.

But this was different. He didn't know whether or not Vergil was coming back.

They had both blown their gaskets way too early in their argument, both regretting it immediately yet both too stubborn to back down from their hole they had already dug; things were said, thrown, strangled and broken, escalating their fight to a degree they didn't want it to go yet still unbelieving in the other's cause of reason, bashing every thought and deed said by the other brother to claim victory for something as stupid as it was. Blood and tears were shed, raw emotions peaked and voices boomed down the street they lived enough to shake the houses on every corner within a five mile radius. The brothers were both broken in seeking a light to appear to drag them from the dark hell they had both plummeted to; in the end they avoided each other like the proverbial airborne virus doing his rounds with the weather, mainly because he had no words in his vocabulary to explain himself, so he did as he always did. Vergil couldn't speak after he cleaned their place by himself, refusing Dante's help on account that it would pain him to see Dante get hurt, again, by something he had caused; their emotional states gave way for an actual injury to occur, their senses on high alert proving nothing more than static in their ears and blood to pour from an accidental cut on a shard of glass for instance, leaving them open to a myriad of disaster in a fifteen minute window. Never had being vulnerable been so scary for the twins, consciously aware that what had happened would loom over their good, bad, and horrible days.

Dante succeeded in finding add-milk-and-water strawberry oatmeal sachets in one of the dried food cupboards, right next to the ramen noodles and baked beans which he also seriously contemplated on just opening the can and eating from there. It was true that you could never go wrong with baked beans, but Vergil had stated that he wanted to use them for dinner at some point, to which he deftly left them in their apt position tucked away. The demon poured the contents into a bowl, half-reading the instructions on the box on how to make it correctly, and to his surprise it actually worked. He was proud at the tiny bowl in his hands, rotating the dimmer on the lounge lights and setting himself up for a romantic supper alone and sitting on the chair he always sat at come dinner time. As a reflex he pulled Vergil's seat and then calmly shifted it back in place, realising that his partner wasn't joining him for his makeshift dinner.

He took hold of the spoon and swirled it around the smooth contents, scooping a mouthful onto it and dropping it back into the bowl instantaneously. "Come back, Vergil." Dante rested his forehead in his hand, covering his eyes as two lone tears stained his reddened cheeks as he searched for a hand to hold that wasn't there. "Please come home."

* * *

"So, let me get this straight…" Nero shook the hazy, split second aftereffect of the vodka out of his head before making an educated conclusion to the overload of information his customer had just dumped on him. "You got jealous that your brother, the epitome of sex on legs, a practical walking, brawny, gorgeous specimen, an angel that was spat out of heaven for rivalling Narcissus himself, not to mention very masculine in every way, gave more attention to a willing female – a student, nonetheless – whom he trains on a daily basis?"

He wasn't about to reveal she had ruined five date nights in a row. "Not jealous; I just don't see why she has to take up his time the way she does-"

"Hey, I'm not judging. I'd get pissed off too." He slid off his chair for the last check on the pizzas, pulling them out one by one and positioning them carefully into their oversized boxes as the cheesy layer continued to bubble. "But maybe the way you went about it wasn't the best way to address the issue." Nero opened the draw closest to him, taking the pizza cutter and slicing his works of art into equal slices; he pulled out six tiny plastic trays which he set in the diagonal corners of each pizza to stop the roof of the box to interfere with the stringy cheese.

"How would you have done it?"

Vergil spoke softly, barely audible over the roaring fires at his ears. "Just like you, really," he said, closing each box and stacking them sensibly on top of one another. "Without the violence maybe. Or the weapons." It was way too late for maybe; Nero carried the boxes to the front counter and the demon followed suit, pulling out his wallet and unlocking his car. "But why listen to me? I have no siblings so I can't relate; I have no doubt the two of you are close, so corner him and talk things out – gorgeous man to gorgeous man." He woke up the computer connected to the cash register and began pressing his order against the screen.

The customer tried balancing the pizzas in his hand. "And you decide to flirt as I leave for home. Bad business practice, Nero." He used his other to swing the door open, freezing air making its way into the shop.

He'd earned a smile; a genuinely stunning one. "Put those in your car so long; I have one last thing that may do the trick."

Vergil stuffed them into the front seat of his car – they just fit – and watched as Nero scurried around the front desk, bending and prodding at articles beyond his line of vision. He was through the door in no time, anxious to see what had been hidden in his sleeve the entire time. The owner returned with four tubs of vanilla ice cream, half a bottle of strawberry syrup and two packs of fresh strawberries. "Slice those, alternate layering them and he's putty in your hands." He found a stray plastic bag and towered them inside it, pushing it over and saving his life. "If that doesn't work, you're gonna have to let him suck you off."

He gladly took it by the ears, plucking out two one hundred dollar bills and handing them over. "Thank you – for your trouble and the advice."

Did he have a new favourite customer? Nero tried to stop him as he left the store, clearly mistaken on the amount of money he had given as payment. "I can't take this-"

"Of course you can." There was no way he'd take the money back – he'd earned it. "It's either that or you're gonna have to let me suck you off." He gave Nero a straight-faced wink before climbing into the Audi and speeding off into the night.

The latter didn't seem all too bad in Nero's books.

* * *

Vergil had parked his car with a clean head and a cloudy heart with not enough oxygen in the world to still his throbbing heart; he could feel Dante in the lounge – the soft, sombre breathing and the gentleness of his character sitting unaccompanied at their dinner table – as well as the puff of grey smoke hanging over his head causing considerable discomfort at the sting of loneliness he wasn't used to. The front door to the shop felt weightier, no key in the lock needed for his pending, hopeful arrival; the creak at the door was the only sound to crack through the sound barrier in the vast room alongside the clinking of cutlery at the table. He peeked behind the door and his brother's eyes never left his bowl of pink mess even after the slight crinkle to his nose as the dough and cheese hit his demonic senses. The elder shut the door tightly behind him keeping the crisp morning air away from his brother, placing his stacked apology carefully in front of the brooding, masculine, and tired form; he did what every big brother would have done, stealing the nearly-empty bowl at his clutches and returning it to the sink where it belonged. "I was proud of that."

"I know. It smelled great." It was a risk worth taking, finding his usual seat next to his brother and plonking onto it, resting his head on the back of it and stared at the ceiling, wishing the sheep he counted held more than just numbers for some insight on how to begin speaking to him. "I know you don't want to speak to me just yet, but don't make me sit anywhere else."

As per their mealtime ritual, Vergil held out his hand for Dante to take, lacing their fingers and dropping it in the small space between them; under normal circumstance there wouldn't be a gap, but the elder allowed him the space he needed invading only to hold his hand while he whole-heartedly grabbed a slice of pizza. "And why is that?"

"Because I belong here: by your side. Always." Dante stopped chewing at the sentiment, one quarter of a lump falling from his throat at his brother's words and the other quarter growing as Vergil lifted his hand to his lips and placed a single, affectionate kiss on the back of it; all the anticipation of his arrival fizzed into the air, the younger not being able to bring himself to turn his head and watch the raw emotion on display from a man whom he respected as the coldest bastard to ever walk the earth – this surprise turn of events and downright flip to his rationality was veiled by the overwhelming rush brought on by the pizza, Vergil's olive branch and his very last resort to re-establish their relationship.

"I meant why don't I want to speak to you?" He kept his eyes on his dish, terrified at what he might see deep inside the pair of blue eyes he knew were watching him. By no means was Vergil the expressive type, too reserved and bottled and focused at different tasks at hand; when he did, time froze for the split seconds he showed his vulnerability, the cracks to his steely shield floating to the surface and withering from so far deep within him that he had no option but to allow his insecurities to breathe as time would move forward again, the display of his true persona forgotten between the sands and quickly replaced with happier times that overshadowed the bad ones. "I've been waiting all night for you to come home."

He still couldn't look at him, continuing to chew at the wondrous creation but holding onto Vergil tightly, ready to fight him should he consider letting go. "I've been studying up various languages to find the best way to say I'm a fucking asshole-"

"Yes you are, but not for the reasons you're thinking."

Vergil knew all too well what he was referring to, feeling the anxiety through the tips of his fingers. "I wouldn't dare leave you, Dante, but you have to understand that I needed time and fresh air wafting through the empty space between my ears-"

"We have a balcony-"

"I wanted to be away from you-"

"Why?" He reached for his third slice, continuing the chewing action to curb the growing need to throw himself into his brother's arms and tell him that all would be forgiven, needing to overlook the aftermath and focus on where they were and how they'd get past this. It would be easy for the two of them, probably starting and ending between endless hours under the sheets, clawing vigorous scars onto their backs and moans reverberating the walls as it drifted to the back of their minds never to be remembered by sheer force of will. "Did you truly want that?"

His voice was just a whisper, barely heard by the demon right next to him. "I thought that's what you'd want-"

"Then you don't know me as well as you think you do." Dante dusted the crumbs from his fingers, moving the box closer to both of them for his brother to eat; he couldn't remember whether or not he ate at all, so his safest bet was to offer anyway. "Well, maybe a little because I couldn't stand you for ten minutes after but that was it. Not two whole days, Verge; that's suicide by my standards-" and at long last he looked at him, the pain etched on his face like the tears threatening to fall from his eyelids – just helplessly sitting there as he tried a sad smile to throw his brother off course.

"Maybe I do, and maybe I don't," he says, gripping their laced fingers to his chest and indirectly pulling him toward him. "But never doubt what I do know, Dante. The only thing that will ever matter to me is that I love you: we can fight, we can pull each other's hair out, and we can scream our lungs dry, but that will forever be surpassed by the fact that you're my everything. It was a misstep in judgement and I was wrong; I will pay for this as long as I live on the condition that I get to do it next to you."

His voice had suddenly changed to a raspy tone, clicking the younger brother into overdrive to give his fair share to the mix. This was new and he wasn't comfortable at the disclosure, unaware of just how bad a toll it had taken on the very man he strived his entire life to be like; the man he held closest to him; the one he knew he'd love until the very end. "You could have just said sorry-"

"It wouldn't come close to being enough." By now they were just staring at one another, not knowing what to do or say and letting their innermost voices guide them through to the finish line. Vergil leaned toward him and afforded the lightest of kisses, pursing his lips against Dante's piquant, intoxicating skin. "I will never hurt you again."

Dante snapped; he couldn't take it anymore. "God, I love you so much…" He kissed him fiercely, with a force that pushed him into the back of the chair to make room for his younger brother to straddle his hips; Vergil found solace in sneaking his fingers under the cotton cloth and ripping it to strips small enough to fall to the floor and off his brother's body. Dante tried keeping his control and failing miserably, seizing the smooth wood on either side of his brother's face and compressing it to splinters, perfectly illustrating how much he had missed his companion.

Vergil halted at the noise, turning his head to look at the damage and damn near proud of what he had accomplished. One sultry smirk to order, he pecked Dante on the lips and lightly growled into his mouth. "Let's get you upstairs then." He stood with his brother in his arms, moving the chair far behind him and giving the pair enough space to make a safe trip up the flight to their shared room, kicking the door harder than what was needed as a tiny yelp sounded at the younger landing flat on his back onto the soft mattress.

* * *

Vergil was wide awake in the kitchen slicing up strawberries and towering it with the vanilla ice cream and syrup just the way Dante liked it; butt naked. The man in question came ambling down the stairs looking for him, not surprised he was in the kitchen but shocked that he wore nothing else but a satisfied smirk. "You really don't like clothes, do you?" He snuck behind him, snuggling his fresh arousal between his brother's cheeks and resting his hands on his smooth, milky, exposed hips.

He was putting the finishing touches on the sundae, popping a lost strawberry into his mouth and passing one over his shoulder. "Everything is easier when you wear nothing, Dante." He drew a deep breath at the sweet, cold peck to his shoulder blade; Vergil knew the dangers of handling sharp objects when his brother was in the mood, playing with his body and twisting him around his fingers before lunchtime – he carefully placed the knife and the fruit he was carving on the work surface as Dante spun him and lifted him onto the counter, spreading his legs and holding him firmly by his thighs.

He was back and very much in his league of expertise: reaching across the counter he plucked the biggest strawberry he could find and nestled it between Vergil's teeth. "When I'm done, that shouldn't have moved; I see bite marks, we start over." Dante pushed him backward, his warm skin to bite at the chill of the tiles along the wall, scrunching his body and clasping tufts of silver as the starved brother took him whole into his mouth, doing all he could to hold the small fruit in its original state whilst balancing his craving to moan from the deepest pits of his lungs.


End file.
